He put the question with so much confidence, with so much of his old certainty that it checked Jane.
"Why, we all may change," she said slowly.
"I am glad you will grant that much,"—ironically. "Think back, just a few weeks, and you may recall one somewhat theatrical statement you made to me about finding yourself among these people. I thought it preposterous then but I have lived and learned; I know now that you could mean what you said then.... Jane, I, too, have found my people ... at least my woman."
She stared hard at him.
"Do you mean that, Dick Hilton?"—very lowly.
"As much as I have ever meant anything in my life!"
"Sit down," she said, more to give her time to think than in consideration of his comfort. Then, after a moment: "It isn't much of a boast, to mean this as much as you have ever meant anything."
"Then need we talk further? You ask questions; I answer; you do not believe. Why continue?"
She sat down in a chair before him.
"This is the reason: That I think you have lied to me again. I don't believe you are sincere. No, no, you must listen to me, now!"—as he started forward with an enraged exclamation. "I brought you here to make what is left of the Dick Hilton I once liked see this thing as I see it."